Emotional Torture
by sweetysmart0505
Summary: It's Parent/Teacher Interviews at school, and Dean's teacher wants to know what's up with their little family. Is John really that bad a father? Wee!Chesters, Dean: 11, Sam: 7, TwoShot
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their respective owners, Eric Kripke, the CW._

**A/N**: I love Wee!chester stories, so I thought "Why not write another one?" So, this one is "What if the boys had a Parent/Teacher Interview day." But John's still full of lots of angst. So, read on...

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**Emotional Torture**

Ms. Stewart couldn't help it. There was something about those two boys. Something about them that just wasn't quite right.

The Winchesters, Sam, grade 1, and Dean, grade 5, had only been in the school for the past month, but she noticed something about them. As a grade-school teacher, Ms. Stewart got to see an interesting aspect of children that high school professors didn't get to see. And being Dean's teacher, she really got to see something in him and his brother.

They were different than the other kids. Something stood out with them.

Maybe it was the way they were always together. Every lunch, Ms. Stewart would observe Dean scanning the playground until he found Sam. Then they would go off to the sidelines, watching the other kids having fun, while they sat alone, eating whatever lunch they had, and sometimes that was nothing at all.

Maybe it was the way they dressed. In all her years, Ms. Steward had seen spoiled children, all dressed in brand new clothes, clean, ironed clothes. But Sam and Dean... they wore tatters. Every piece of clothing they owned had some sort of hole in it or some speck of dirt, oil stain. Hell, Ms. Stewart could have sworn she saw blood once, but when class had started, Dean had changed his clothes to something else torn.

Maybe it was the dead look the older boy exhibited. She could tell he tried to hide it, but when he thought no one was looking he would let loose, and the look would plaster his face. It was the look like he had given up, like he was scared, alone, angry. Sam was still too young to understand the kind of emotion that Dean had. But Dean knew something... something Sam didn't possibly.

Or maybe it was the fact that she had never once seen their father, which was, as far as she knew, all they had left. Neither boy ever took the bus, someone picked them up. She tried to get a sneak-peek at the one inside the classic car, but she only ever got close enough to hear a deep voice bark for them to hurry.

The teachers had all noticed the Winchesters. One of the other teachers, who seemed to have too much time on his hands, had a serious theory that maybe the boys' mother walked out on them, left them alone with their father. It was rude to even say something like that, but it was something to speculate, and something easy to do when her class was working quietly with Dean sitting in the back, clearly _not_ doing his work... again.

But it felt true. These boys didn't seem to act like they had a mother figure at all. They looked like they hadn't been cradled to sleep or sung to in a long time. Maybe their mother did walk out on them. Maybe it was just their father figure who picked them up, who looked after them like he did, kept them looking like they did.

Either way, Ms. Stewart was excited and a little nervous at the same time. Ms. Stewart had told the class about Parent/Teacher Interview day. That day was one week away. The days moved fast and suddenly that day was here.

--

When John Winchester entered the room, Ms. Stewart knew it. The man brought a sense of foreboding about him. Almost a sense of death. It was hard for Ms. Stewart not to tell he was in the room, especially when it was one full of school things, like desks, papers, etc. John Winchester just didn't seem like he fit in at all. He looked exactly like his sons, forlorn and ragged. Then another parent entered the room. It was like a switch had flipped. John Winchester went from solemn to silent, backing into the shadows at the side of the room, melding in with the background. The other parent, dragging her snotty little girl behind her, asked if coming back in 10 minutes would be all right. Ms. Stewart nodded. Surprisingly, the other parent exited the room as if there wasn't somebody standing in the shadows right beside the door. And when she was gone, John came back into the light.

It wasn't something that one would have noticed. But Ms. Stewart was looking for something in John Winchester, so she noticed. And she didn't like it.

John stared at the teacher for a short moment, while Ms. Stewart gathered her thoughts. Finally Dean's teacher cleared her throat and asked, "Where's Dean?"

John, who had a grave look on his face, lingering among is shadowed eyes, replied, "He's coming." His voice was quiet.

As if on cue, Dean, with little Sammy clutching his hand, walked into the room. Upon seeing his father, Dean suddenly gave of the same air of confidence that John did. Incredible. He had never really shown much emotion in class. But apparently this single father figure had a big influence on him.

"Come on, Dean!" John's voice was rough, hollow.

"Yes, dad," Dean replied leisurely as he attempted to re-adjust his brother's grip to his other hand. Eventually, Dean wounds his way through the desks to where John stood facing Ms. Stewart.

Ms. Stewart was determined not to get flustered now. "This is a routine interview to make sure you know how your child is doing in school."

John nodded.

"Presently... Dean could be doing better. He seems to slack a bit on his work."

John's eyes flashed to where his son stood to the right of him, his shoulders slightly bent. But the look didn't linger, and John returned his eyes to Ms. Stewart.

She cleared her voice again. "It's something that should be taken seriously. If your son is going to succeed in life, get a good education and a job, he's going to need to learn the basics."

Ms. Stewart could tell John really wanted to say something, and judging by the look on his face it wouldn't have been very nice. But she watched as John seemed to bite his tongue to hold back whatever snide remark he wanted to make.

"Anyway, I feel this needs to be corrected soon."

John nodded. In the same rough voice John replied, "I'll be sure to get right on that." But Ms. Stewart could clearly hear right through his sarcasm. He wasn't planning on fixing anything.

"Look Mr. Winchester. You may not feel an education is important, what with your unemployed status, but this boy could have a good future. You just have to help him!"

John didn't respond. His eyes almost seemed to flash black at the remark.

But Ms. Stewart was irritated... hell she was beyond that. "Mr. Winchester, I don't much know about what happened to these children's mother but..."

At that point Ms. Stewart saw it. Something sprang across John's face, like a rage hidden deep inside that finally boiled over. And for once in her life. Ms. Stewart was truly scared for her life. She couldn't help herself and she took a step backward, bumping into her own desk, and then stood frozen to the spot. Her eyes moved to John's and locked on. John Winchester's mouth opened, his fists were raised to his side. Ms. Stewart felt it then that she might actually die. She could definitely tell this man in front of her was completely capable and totally willing.

Then something happened, and Ms. Stewart was finally able to divert her eyes away from John's. Dean had taken his own stance between John and herself, facing toward Ms. Stewart. She couldn't believe it. Dean, the Dean, the one who showed no emotion ever, actually had the same look of complete anger on his face as well... only something else was hidden on his face. It was profound sadness. Ms. Stewart was struck speechless. Then she heard a little whisper.

Dean's head was still dipped a little, but she heard a soft voice coming from him. He said, "Don't talk about my mom." He then looked her right in the eye and yelled, "Don't you dare!"

She was breathless. These two Winchesters were pissed. Something awful happened, way worse then just having mommy walk away. Something bad went down. At the mere mention on her, it set off a flare.

Movement. Something moved to her left. Little Sammy. Sam had come forward and was now holding his big brother's had, and, with a pleading voice, asked, "Come on, Dean. Can we go home now?"

Upon hearing his little brother's pleading, Dean released his death grip on his own hands, and grabbed Sam's tiny hands.

"Please, Dean?"

Dean then finally looked at his brother. He sighed. "Yea Sammy. Yea, we can go home. Right dad?"

John's face had gone red. Beat red. He was still fuming. Dean grabbed his father's balled fist. "Dad?" It was time for the fire to calm the blaze. "Come on, Dad." A pause. "Please."

That little word seemed to finally get through John's momentary insanity. He was pulled out of his stupor, quicker than he was in he was out. His eyes turned back into shadows. His face turned peach/pale. He sighed and his mouth closed. Though his hands remained in fists, he was calm now. Definitely calm enough that Ms. Stewart felt it safe to breathe again.

Ms. Stewart couldn't believe it. This young man, the quiet one of her class, had calmed the beast. He had brought the calm with a single word. Suddenly, Ms. Stewart could see the trust these three shared. Each one trusted the other to help each other, even to get through something like a night of anger. These three were truly a family. Although a scary one.

Dean then grabbed little Sammy's hand, and whispered, "Come on, buddy. What'say when we get home we put on a movie. You can stay up late to watch it, 'k?"

"'k, Dean," Sam replied with a grin.

They started to walk away when Dean suddenly looked backward and gave Ms. Stewart a very apologetic look. The look was very sincere and Ms. Stewart found it very hard not to forgive. Dean then shot John a look and John followed his sons out of the room without a second glance at the dumbfounded teacher.

--

The next day, Dean wasn't there. No one knew where he'd gone. The next day and the day after that were the same. It went on and on, but there was no sign on the Winchesters. Finally someone stopped by their rented place and found it empty, completely stripped of everything, no evidence that they were even there. It was Ms. Stewart. She noticed immediately that no one at school even noticed Dean or Sam to be gone. Things just went on as if they were never there.

But they left a lasting impression on Ms. Stewart. Not that they scared the shit out of her, but that they were a family, that's for sure. But they were more than that. They were a family of great pain. Something had happened to them. Something that made them strong and weak at the same time. Something that she couldn't even begin to understand. And though she _was _scared shitless when the eldest, John Winchester, stared her down, she would never forget them for another reason. It was their togetherness. Family forever.

**To be Continued...**

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**A/N**: Well? It wasn't my greatest, but I HAD to write it. Please review!

And make sure you read Part Two too!


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their respective owners, Eric Kripke, the CW._

**A/N**: Someone actually requested a second chapter, bringing in Ms. Stewart again, to learn a little more about our boys as adults. So, here it is.

Thanks for the request, _blackcatswhiskers_.

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**Emotional Torture  
****20 Years Later...**

It had been a long 20 years. Ms. Stewart had been getting up in years. Feeling close to retirement. She had had her share of teaching. It was time to let somebody else take the reigns. Who would have thought that this would bring on her own genuine haunting?

Ms. Stewart, soon to be known as Edna Stewart, had come home from the school office after officially delivering her order of resignation. Walking in her front door, she put her jacket and purse by the door, locked the door, and started the furnace. Suddenly, the room goes cold. She could literally see her breath in a matter of seconds. She had an extremely bad feeling. Something was not right!

There was a snap behind her. Whipping around, she came face to face with a young boy. He was barely twelve years old. He flickered quickly before disappearing. _What the hell?_ She snapped her head back and forth. The room was still cold. Edna shivered like a leaf. Then, there was movement out of the corner of her eye. There was the boy standing to her left. Something stood out on him. His wrists were slit, with obvious signs of hesitation marks. His eyes were afire. He was blazing with anger. He opened his mouth, ready to scream at her.

Crash! Edna's front door bursts open. "Duck!" a voice shouted over her own scream of fear. But the commanding tone in the intruder's voice made it impossible not to follow that order. She fell to the floor, immediately followed by short shots from a gun. From through her eyelashes, she saw the boy's feet disappear. The room kicked into life. The furnace turned on and the cold quickly disappeared.

Edna Stewart felt gentle hands prodding her. Finally voices penetrated her mind. Starting out sluggish and turning quite crisp. "... all... Hey..... You.... Miss, you... ight?... Miss, you all right?" She nodded her head, too dazed to answer.

Then those same hands were pulling her up, off the floor and onto her nearby couch. It didn't take her long to see that this person supporting her was no one she knew. Through blurry vision he was unfamiliar. So Edna began to struggle. The voice began calming her down. "It's all right. We're here to help. Hey, calm down. It's all right."

The voice was so sincere; she couldn't help but believe. But why? She never believed anything anyone said. Why would she all of a sudden believe a stranger who had burst into her house... and saved her life? Her mind clicked on. This person had saved her life. Edna's vision cleared quickly.

On front of her was a man. A young man with beautiful hazel-green eyes, short-cropped hair, and an almost angelic face. It wasn't that she was interested in him. He was way to young for her tastes, but it was something in his eyes. Something she just couldn't help... forgive. Why? Why would she feel that need to forgive? Why did he feel so familiar?

His voice cut through her thoughts. "Are you all right?"

Edna nodded. The man began to get up when she suddenly grabbed his arm. "Wait." She whispered.

"What?" the man sniped.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled softly, probably hoping she wasn't about to snap. "You don't really want to know."

Then, there was another voice. "Dean, come on. The house is clear. Grab her and let's go."

The man nodded, but something tugged at Edna's... no, Ms. Stewart's memory.

_"Come on, Dean!"_

_"Please, Dean."_

_"'K, Dean."_

_"Dean. Dean. Dean."_

_"Can we go home now? Please, Dean?"_

_"Please?"_

Please. Why please? Please... the word had saved her life. But Dean...

"Come on, Dean," the other man pleaded.

"Dean," Ms. Stewart whispered. "Dean... Winchester."

The man in front of her stiffened. The taller one in the doorway began to raise his gun.

"It's you, isn't it. Dean Winchester."

Dean's soft eyes had turned rock hard. _Just like his father's. Just like John's_.

"Who are you?"

Ms. Stewart struggled to get her thoughts back to the present, where here and now a man was grabbing her upper arms and shaking her, repeating over and over, "Who are you? How do you know who I am?"

Ms. Stewart stumbled over words before finally replying, "You saved my life." The man, Dean, blinked. "You saved my life 20 years ago."

Dean let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, miss. You must have the wrong Dean. 20 years ago, I was only-"

"Eleven years old," Ms. Stewart finished. "Yes. I was your teacher."

"Dean?" The tall one whispered.

"I'm sorry, I don't know you."

Ms. Stewart giggled. "No, I don't suppose you would. You were only in my class for a month before your father dragged you out. You left so quickly."

"I don't..."

Ms. Stewart smiled. "And you must be Samuel," she asked, turning her head toward the other stranger under her living room arch. The man nodded blankly.

Ms. Stewart smiled again. Who would have thought it? For many months after those two boys left, that was all she thought about. Where were they? Were they coming back? Were they safe? And now here they were in her very house... saving her life again.

"You two probably don't remember it. It was 20 years ago when I announced to the class," Ms. Stewart nodded her head toward Dean, "about Parent/Teacher Interviews. Your father came in. In a moment of anger, I, regretfully, brought up your mother in front of him." Both boys visibly flinch and Dean's eyes darken. "He got angry at me. Understandably. I would have been mad, too. Sam, you were the only one who wasn't looking at me like they wanted to tear me apart. You got your brother to calm down. Then you, Dean, got your father... well, not calm, but out of the room with me in tact."

Dean had stood up. He was now hovering over her with a look like he clearly thought she was crazy.

"You don't realize how much I thought of you two."

"Why us?" It was Sam who spoke for Dean who was struck speechless.

"I don't know. I had many reasons. Your clothes, your unsocialized demeanor, the looks on your faces. I knew you didn't have a mom anymore, but I was sure that your father was some monster for letting you guys live the way you di-"

"Shut up!"

Ms. Stewart was stilled. Dean had been so quiet; now he suddenly burst. Like their father had 20 years ago.

"You don't know our lives, you don't know our father! You. Don't. Know. Us," Dean stated.

"Dean," Sam whispered, clearly trying to soothe his brother... again, like he had 20 years ago.

Dean took a deep breath... and then coughed. He breathed out again, and there was a small mist that rose from his mouth. The temperature had dropped again. The anger was gone. There was only a look of determination on his face, clearly getting a game-face on.

Then, there he was. The young boys standing behind Dean. "Dean! Drop!" Sam yelled. Dean's body obeyed, meanwhile dragging Ms. Stewart down with him. A shotgun went off. The ghost was gone. The temperature didn't return to normal. The ghost came back. "Dean! We need to get out of here. Come on!"

Dean didn't respond, but only grabbed Ms. Stewart by the arms, and began dragging her out the door. She didn't complain. They were getting her away from danger. The rest went by fast. There were noises, shots, squeaks, rubber on asphalt, brakes, whispered voices, and then Dean was suggesting, much to the surprised of the younger brother, that she stick with them... just until this was over. Sam had no say. Dean apparently knew where to go. Soon, they were stopping. She was told to stay in the car, but she couldn't. She followed blindly.

It was dark. But not dark enough to hide where she was. They were in a cemetery. "What the-"

"We told you to stay in the car," Dean said, almost as a sorry.

They moved fast. They stopped. She stood by as the boys pulled shovels out... and started digging. They were digging a grave. They dug deeper and deeper. She said nothing.

The silence didn't last long when Dean abruptly asked, "So, you remember me from 20 years ago."

Ms. Stewart nodded.

"Look, you really don't know anything about us. And that's the way it will hopefully stay. But from what you said, you brought up our mom around out dad. That was only a few years after she... died."

Swallowing, Ms. Stewart was filled with deep regret. She had been so ignorant, so rash, back then. How could she say that?

"Don't worry about it. It wasn't your fault. Hell, I probably would have been worried too. We didn't grow up in the best conditions. But our dad did the best he could before he..."

"Dean," Sam whispered again, this time in support.

Ms. Stewart didn't know what to say. So, both their mother and father were dead. It broke her heart.

Though, clearly these boys couldn't remember that particular instant which she remembered, she somehow wasn't surprised. All of a sudden, she couldn't help but look around at her surrounding and ask, "So, this is really what you guys do? Grave robbers?"

"Hunters," Dean corrected automatically, like he had a debt to pay to this woman. "That thing in your home? That was a spirit. He was after revenge on teachers, thinking any of them who quit their jobs were giving up on children. He blamed teachers for his death."

"Ghosts?"

"Yea, ghosts."

"I always knew there was something about you boys, but I never imagined ghosts. Even after that essay you wrote in grade 5, 'Ways to kill a werewolf'."

Sam chuckled.

Dean smirked. "What can I say? We had an odd life." At that, Dean pulled out a set of matches. The boys had finished digging, and poured, what looked like, salt and lighter fluid on the open grave. Flames rose from the ground.

Ms. Stewart then whispered, more to herself, "I'm just glad you boys are all right."

But Dean had heard her. It was true he couldn't remember this teacher, but he really believed she remembered him. The way she described his past, his father, she must have really done what she said she had. And he felt sorry. Dean looked at his former teacher. Ms. Stewart looked right back. She then noticed something. In the flickering light of the burning grave, Dean suddenly looked eleven years old again, giving her that same apologetic stare he had given her last time she'd seen him. This time she wasn't struck speechless. She knew what to say. "It wasn't your fault, Dean. It really wasn't."

Edna Stewart watched as Sam grabbed his brother's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Dean nodded his head. He looked truly happy as he stood staring into the flames with his family by his side. Dean really was still that little eleven-year-old, forever with his family... whatever was left of it.

**End**

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**A/N**: I personally liked the second chapter better. What did you all think?


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